Tying Ties and Believing Lies
by purple pear 87
Summary: James Potter refuses to tie his tie. Lily Evans refuses to let this slip. Full of tie-tying and adorable cluelessness. Oneshot! JP/LE


**A/N- I suppose I should explain why I've been writing all these completely random fanfictions of late. Well, I've decided that I need to branch out my style of writing, so I've been experimenting with all sorts of different characters and emotions. Yes, I will update Stay With Me soon, but sadly, I no longer enjoy writing it. Oh, well. It's all for you lot, now.**

Tying Ties and Believing Lies

James Potter, it seems, cannot tie a tie.

For some reason, I can't stop thinking about that.

It's not like I spend a lot of time thinking about Potter. Honest, no matter what Alice and Emmaline think. But somehow, it bugs me. Irritates me. Makes me want to rip out my hair and scream and stomp up to him and strangle him with his tie.

Merlin. Who knew Potter can inspire this amount of emotion in me?

I notice it on the first day of school, when I'm dragging my trunk up the girls' staircase and sweating and panting and nearly cursing the existence of all baggage. James Potter is across the room, twirling his wand between his fingers as he talks with his 'group', otherwise known as Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. It's not the wand-twirling that gets my attention, or the way his black hair falls into his face in a way that isn't adorable, or that his collared shirt has four buttons undone. It's the Gryffindor tie- the red-and-gold striped symbol of bravery and house pride- that's looped around his neck, as though he couldn't be fussed to put it on properly. My trunk pauses on the way up the stairs as I squint to get a closer look. Despite the many girls practically drooling over him from the fireplace, it doesn't give him a 'mysterious', 'sexy' or 'handsome' look. Not at all. Not one little bit.

I let it go, however. It's only the first day back, and Potter's probably really tired. Not that I'm concerned about him. Just an observation. Most of the blokes in the common room have loosened their tie- many aren't wearing any, in fact. I hoist my trunk up and manage to get it across the hall and into my dormitory.

The next morning, however, he still hasn't tied it. I'm sitting at my usual spot in the Great Hall, on the right of Marlene and on the left of Emmaline, and my mouth is inexplicably dry as I watch him walk in. Not that I've been waiting for him, of course. I take an unnecessary gulp of orange juice as he walks past, turning his head so that he's looking at me and giving a knowing smirk. I scowl at him. After all, his tie is still draped around his neck in an infuriatingly undone fashion. And I can't have the fellow Head Boy looking like that.

It's on the third day that he comes to breakfast that I can't take it anymore. I wait until the meal's over- I'm not anxious, or anything, but I still don't eat- and get to my feet right as Potter does. I walk out of the Hall and follow him down the hallway to Transfiguration. He turns and, seeing who it is, grins at me. "Hullo, Evans."

"Potter," I say, in what can only be described as my 'if-you-don't-answer-the-way-I-want-you-to-I-will-kick-your-ass' voice. "Would you mind explaining why you find it unnecessary to actually tie your tie?"

He looks at me, blinks stupidly, then looks down at his shirt. His eyebrows wrinkle together in a most decidedly _not _adorable way. We've both stopped walking, so that we're facing each other in the empty hallway. "I've never tied my tie before."

"But, why?" I roll my eyes and enunciate my syllables, as though speaking to a mentally impaired person. Honestly, from all the reaction I'm getting, I might as well be. He frowns and appears to seriously contemplate this question. It looks like hard work. "I can't tie a tie."

"Shouldn't seven years of wearing them every day teach you?" I ask irritably. He shrugs. "It just doesn't seem like a big deal. If it's on, it doesn't matter how, does it?"

I stare at him, wondering if it's really true that boys and girls are virtually the same until the testosterone kicks in. "Not a big deal?" If I were talking to any of my friends- anyone who knows me at all, they'd probably be backing slowly away, squeezing their eyes shut and holding up their hands for protection. But this is Potter after all, and he has as much sense as a stuffed teddy bear.

A stuffed bear with an untied tie, that is.

"Well, I can't work with you, if you won't wear it properly," I declare. "It's against Head rules."

"What Head rules?" He asks incredulously.

Damn him. He must know that I've just made that up. "Mine," I answer smugly. Sometimes my wit astounds even me. "I can't concentrate, if it's just hanging there, like a slob dressed you. Oh, wait. . ."

"It's just a tie," he says, running his hand through his hair in the way he must know is endear- er, irritating. "What does it matter? I can take it off, if you want." His hand's at his neck, pulling his tie away, but I reach up and grab it. "No," I say so quickly that I surprise even myself. This is not because I enjoy seeing him looking so rumpled and undone. Not at all. "No. It's dress code. You have to wear it."

He rolls his eyes and slings it around his neck again. "Fine. Then be prepared to be irritated, then."

I wrinkle my nose at him, trying to think of a counter argument- or indeed a reason why his tie matters so much to me at all. Because it shouldn't, after all, but then again, anything that James Potter does seems to annoy me. Before I can open my mouth to speak this piece of logic, he's walking away, into the classroom, leaving me all alone.

It seems, however, that when the day's done, he hasn't forgotten about me at all. I'm stretched out on a couch in the common room, Alice curled up at my feet, chattering happily while I read over the Daily Prophet, when a shadow falls across my newspaper. My fingers clench around the paper. Surely, everyone knows not to disturb me when I'm reading, by now. I tilt my head up, so that I'm staring directly into James Potter's face.

"Potter." I say, as though he doesn't know his own name. He nods, looking almost nervous. If he doesn't leave soon, I'm going to get a crick in my neck. I frown at him. "What do you want?'

"Well. . ." He looks incredibly awkward. I watch this curiously, aware of Alice's, and the whole common room's, eyes on us. "I just. . . I mean. . . Er. . . I thought. . . Will you go to Hogsmeade with me?" He blurts out, his cheeks flushing. It's not adorable, I remind myself again. He looks as though he's expecting a negative answer- his shoulders are hunched protectively, but there's some spark of hope in his eyes. And before I can help myself, words are spilling from my mouth. "I suppose so."

I blink. He blinks. Did I really just say that? I must have, though, because a grin spreads over his face. I reach up and clap my hand over his mouth before he can shout or laugh or pump his fist into the air, the way I know he will. "One condition," I say, feeling slightly smug. His eyebrows come together, and I take my hand away from his mouth. "What's that?" He asks, licking his lips.

I smirk. "Learn to tie your tie, first."

There. If one thing could crush his spirits, that would be it. I'm not suggesting that James is incompetent- although, of course, he is- but he'll never be able to tie his tie in time for the Halloween Hogsmeade. I overheard my own dad telling my mum that it took him nearly six months. Surely it'll be double that for James, who's only half his age. I frown and ponder this. I think I might have to touch up on my maths again.

But as the days go by, and James remains his usual cheerful self, smiling at me in class, making a point to talk with me between break time, I wonder if I've misjudged him. Maybe he can learn to knot his tie properly. The worry begins to grow, until one night during the end of September, I can't take it any longer. If he's planning to ambush me with his tie-tying skills, I want to be prepared.

This is why I decide to take actions into my own hands. As the clock chimes eleven, most of the students have left the common room and gone up into their dormitories. I get to my feet, look around guiltily, before tip-toeing up the stairs to the boys' dormitories. Honestly, I have no idea what I'm doing, much less what dormitory James is in, but miraculously enough, nobody notices me as I go round and round in circles, past floor after floor of closed doors. Finally, I come to the top floor, where the seventh years must sleep. I wince as the abused floorboards creak, but make it to the first door without any casualties. I listen hard- none of those voices as recognizable. I cross the hall, and the other door has a pawprint inked on it. That must be them, I think, rolling my eyes.

I press my ear to the door. It's not creepy- honestly, it's not. I'm just curious. This isn't stalking. Besides, he's done this to me more times than I can count. I concentrate on trying to make out the words. It's Sirius's voice. I lean closer.

"Over and under," Sirius is saying. I wrinkle my forehead and listen harder. There's silence, and then I hear a snort of laughter from Remus. "It's really not that difficult, James."

"It won't do it!" James is saying, sounding frustrated. "It gets all bundled up in a knot."

"That's because it's upside down," I hear Remus explaining patiently. There's a rustle of fabric, and a muttered curse, before James is shouting. "Padfoot! Moony! Help! It's strangling me! I'm done for!"

I press my hand to my mouth to smother my laughter, suddenly realizing what they must be doing- giving James lessons on how to tie his tie. It's almost sweet, that he's going this far to go out on a date with me. I drop to my stomach, and find that, with the right amount of wriggling and squirming, and if I tilt my head at a sharp angle, I can peer under the door and see into the room. James is standing at the messy dresser, Sirius and Remus on either side of him, and there's a wad of fabric around his neck, going up into his face, which is turning red. Sirius has got out a pocketknife, and is frantically sawing at the tie, which has contorted into a shape I didn't know it was capable of. "Good God, man," Sirius says, giving the tie a tug, and it rips apart, falling to the ground along with James, who coughs and chokes and rolls around on the carpet. "You really are rubbish at this, aren't you?"

"I. . . told. . . you. . ." James gasps, wheezing in between every word. "I'll. . . never. . . go out. . . with. . . Lily."

Aw. That is sweet. He risked death-by-tie for me. I feel my heart swoon, right as footsteps come up the steps, and there's a squeak of surprise.

"Lily?"

Damn. I turn around as slowly as possible and smile into the stunned face of Peter Pettigrew, as though I was in this situation everyday. "Hi, Peter," I say brightly, pushing myself to my feet and dusting my clothes off which as much dignity as possible, for someone who's just been caught eavesdropping at their enemy's door. Peter hasn't moved, and the look of bewilderment and surprise on his face would be comical, if this wasn't such a dire situation. I take a step forward until I'm less than a few inches away from him. "Listen, _Pettigrew_," I say with as much malice as a tiny red-headed girl is capable of. "If you breathe one word of this- even one, mind you- I will personally see to it that you can never eat again."

There's a squeak of terror from the boy, followed by a frantic head nod. I smile and wave at him. "See you later, then," I call over my shoulder as I skip down the staircase and into the common room.

I'm much more cheerful of late. Even my friends have noticed. They think it's because I've been getting enough sleep and not drinking too much coffee. I wouldn't tell them the real reason- that James Potter will never be able to properly tie a tie by the end of the year, so that means I'll never have to go on a date with him.

Although, really, going on a date with James wouldn't be so bad. He's not quite the horrible person I thought he was, last year and before that. He's fun to talk to, although thick, caring, and when prodded enough, responsible. No, it's more the losing factor that I'm dreading. I'm very competitive. And if I have to lose a bet to anybody, it sure as hell won't be to James Potter.

"Lily."

I look up from my book. "James."

"Lily."

"James."

"Lily!"

"James!"

"Argh! Stop it!"

"Well, you started it." I fold the corner of my page down and close the book. "What do you want?"

He beams, all the irritation gone, and gestures at himself. I narrow my eyes suspiciously and look him up and down. Same rumpled black hair. Same gray sweater. Same black pants. I finally look back up at him blankly. "What?'

He gestures to his neck, where hangs. . .

I freeze. There, tied in a perfect knot around his neck, is his red-and-gold striped Gryffindor tie. My mouth falls open. It isn't tied sloppily, either, or in a bow, the way I've seen Sirius wear it sometimes. The knot is flawless, perfectly symmetrical. I finally look back up at him in shocked stupefication. "How did you do that?"

"I learned," he says smugly. "Took a while, but I finally managed to get it right."

"Um," is my intelligent response. He plants his hands on his hips, and his expression, if possible, grows even more smug and pleased with himself. "And, if I'm not mistaken," he continues. "Today is May fourteenth."

"Wow." I say sarcastically. "You finally learned to count. Congrats, Potter."

"And you know what May fourteenth is," he says, completely ignoring me. I raise an eyebrow. "Saturday?"

"Hogsmeade weekend," he says proudly. "And, remember, you said that if I learned to wear a tie properly-"

"I'd go with you to Hogsmeade," I finish with dawning horror. There's nothing but satisfaction all over his face as he extends a hand to me. I take it without thinking, and allow him to pull me to my feet. Was he always this tall, or did he grow three feet in the last week?

"So, I believe we have a date to go to," James says, putting his arm around my shoulder. I shake it off. "Careful, Potter," I tease. "I didn't agree to be molested by you."

"I'll take what I can get," he says, instead grabbing my hand and lacing his fingers through it. Surprisingly enough, I let him.

Hogsmeade is unpleasantly cold, and I shiver. I was too stupefied to grab my coat before leaving. I shoot a hard look at the sky, cursing it for all the low temperatures, the gray clouds, and the fact that I'm outside now. James sees this, and immediately shrugs out of his jacket. He offers it to me. "You look cold."

"No. I'm fine." I'm stubbornly refusing any favors from James at this point.

"Take it," he insists, shaking it in my face. I shove it away. "I don't need your warmth, Potter," I say. "Take it far, far away."

"Aw, come on," he says, grinning, and manages to wrap it around my shoulders while I squirm impatiently. But then the leftover body heat that he left on the heavy down makes its way into my cold skin, and I shudder, unconsciously pulling the coat closer around me. He chuckles, and I shoot him a nasty glare. His coat smells good, like broomstick polish and fresh air and soap. It shouldn't be a pleasant combination, but somehow it is.

"Now I'm cold," James says, but it isn't directed at me, more of a general statement. I smile, more cheerful now that it isn't so damned freezing, and inch closer to him. "I can share," I say, offering him an inch of the sleeve. He laughs, but doesn't move away, so that we're walking with our upper arms pressed together. Red leaves crunch under my feet, and I can see that they're coated with a thin layer of frost.

"Where should we go?" James asks, unpleasantly upbeat. I shake my head. "This wasn't my idea," I say. "You're choosing, Potter." It's amazing, how easy it is to make his last name sound like an insult. He doesn't look particularly insulted, however.

The Three Broomsticks is warm and crowded. I manage to find a table while James grabs us butterbeers, not even hanging around to chat up Madame Rosmerta- the very young, very blond barmaid. I frown. That's odd- every single date that I've taken to this pub has lingered at the bar. James mustn't like blondes.

"Here you are," he says, passing the mug of steaming butterbeer across the table to me and sitting down. We're in a low booth in the back of the pub, and people- mainly students- are giving us odd looks. It is weird to see Lily Evans and James Potter being so civilized. "Thanks," I say, wrapping my hands around the mug and watching him, the way he taps his foot against the side of the booth, how he throws back his long neck to take a drink from his mug, exposing his throat muscles. I gulp, and suddenly feel too warm.

The date goes surprisingly well. James is easy to talk to, and we discuss school and talk about our families and argue about everything from N.E. to cleaning supplies. There's no awkwardness, no time when I wish I was anywhere else, with somebody else. He laughs at me when I tell him, honestly, that I'm having an enjoyable time, because I'm sure he can see the surprise in my eyes. I grin back and lightly brush his arm with my fingertips, and feel stirring in the air, like life as I know it is changing and never going back.

"What'd'you think you're doing after school?" James asks, putting his drink down and staring at me intently. I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand and frown at him. "Sleeping, I suppose."

He grins. "No, I mean, after we graduate. You going to some Muggle college? Getting a job?"

I shrug, feeling as though there's a specific reason he's asking. "Well, I've always wanted to be a Healer. Work at St. Mungo's, you know? I feel like. . . like I want to help people, when they're down." I tap my fingers around the bottle and look at him. "How 'bout you? Quidditch?"

"That'd be cool," he says fervently, hunkering his shoulders, a smile breaking over his face. I watch him like I'd watch the sun. "But, I'm not good enough. And. . . well, there's a war going on." He glances out the window as though Death Eaters might be marching by, then turns back to me. "I might as well help, right? Be an Auror?"

For some reason, the idea of him throwing himself into danger's way gives me an uneasy, uncomfortable feeling. I frown. "But you could get killed."

"I could get killed even if I don't become an Auror. My parents refused to join Voldemort."

His parents, the Potters, very influential purebloods. I reach out for his hand, waiting until he takes it, and then it's so warm and softly calloused that I don't want to let go. "Just be careful, all right?" I ask, trying to let the anxious feeling in the center of my chest come across.

He pats my hand and smirks, suddenly back to his old James Potter self. "Ah, Evans, I didn't know you cared."

We've finished our drinks, by now, and James has insisted that I try something called crostata, smothered in raspberry jam, and orders a plate from the bar to bring to me. They're tiny tarts, and the pastry crumbles against my lips as he holds it up to them. I take a bite, his fingers brushing agaisnt my chin, and savor the rich, buttery crust and bitterly sweet jam. I swallow, and I swear I can see James lick his lips.

"I think I'm going to have to kiss you," he says, putting his half-eaten tart down and staring at me with pleading eyes. I surprise both of us by lifting my chin up defiantly. "Do it, then."

I'm still clinging onto the last bit of my sanity, hoping that maybe if James is a bad kisser, it'll cancel out any of the feelings that have been growing inside of me since the beginning of today. If he makes a fool of himself, I can push him away, laugh, and leave.

But no such luck. He scoots close to me, until I can feel his breath on my face, all the while staring as though transfixed, traces the curve of my cheek with one hand, and then slowly brings his mouth down to mine. He kisses me as though I'm a delicate china doll, gentle and sweet, afraid he might break me. His lips are warm and soft and curve around mine as though they're supposed to. It figures, that there's just one more thing James Potter is good at.

I make an impatient noise, and bat his hands away, bring my arms up to wrap them around his neck and pull him closer. Our noses clash together, but it doesn't hurt, and I don't really care. He gives a little groan and then his lips are parting mine, searching almost hungrily. I give myself up to him willingly.

"Lily?" He mumbles around my lips. I pinch him on the arm, for interrupting this, and climb onto his lap so that I have better access. He pulls his mouth away from mine so that we're staring into each other's eyes, and his are glazed with passion.

"What?" I ask irritably. He grins, and there's a smudge of lipstick on his chin. He looks like a little boy in love.

"It's a clip-on."

"Pardon?"

"The tie," he clarifies, extricating his arms from around me and unclipping his tie from his collar. I take it carefully, examing the tiny silver clip on the back of the knot. I frown and look up at him. "I thought I didn't have a chance," he says in a rush, as though getting the worst over with. "With you, I mean. This is- _was_ -my only chance. I had to take drastic measures. Peter suggested it- he doesn't wear anything but clip-ons, and he seemed to think that you might have feelings for me, but I knew that you only wanted me to have the perfect tie, and-"

He's silenced as I lean forward and press my lips firmly to his- more to shut him up than anything. He gives a little sigh as I pull away. "You're an idiot," I say truthfully, grinning. He nods. "So I've been-"

"Did you honestly think that I wouldn't go out with you, unless you were able to tie your tie?'

He blinks. "Well, you said-"

"You're. . . unbelievable, you are," I say with something that could be considered as fondness, if anybody happened to be listening in. I lean in and kiss the tiny dimple on the left side of his mouth, like I've always wanted to. "It doesn't take a tie to get my attention." I take the tie and use it to pull his head closer to mine, so that his mouth crashes back against mine.

Unknotted ties do, I must admit, have their uses.

A/N- And that's it! It would mean the world to me if you reviewed. . . .


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